


Homeward

by orphan_account



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:13:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James keeps running, but Q keeps following</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homeward

**Author's Note:**

> My first shot at 00Q

"I thought you didn't do field work," said Bond, leaning over the bar, a tumbler of dark rum dangling from his fingers. He sensed, rather than saw, who it was behind him.

"I don't." Q slipped onto the barstool next to him, looking very pale compared to the linen shirt and tan slacks he was wearing. Bond smiled a little, thinking about how he really needed to get out of MI6 once in awhile.

"Tell me, are you old enough to drink?"

Q made an impatient sound in the back of his throat and Bond chuckled as he signaled the barman. _"Otro,"_ he said.

The barman eyed Q a moment before pouring him some of the dark rum and pushing the glass towards him.

"What, no umbrella?"

"Wrong kind of bar," said Bond, and he drained the rest of his glass. "What are you doing here?"

Q swirled the liquid in his cup, refusing to look up. "You disappeared again."

"We've been over this."

"Yes we have. And you still refuse to let me get a word in edgewise."

"Yes, well-"

_"James."_

Bond pushed himself up straight and turned to look at him. He had his doubts that Q had ever really left London before. His hair was wild with humidity and his cheeks were starting to burn. He was the last sort of person Bond could even imagine on a beach. It might have been why he'd chosen Cuba to disappear to for awhile, but Bond wasn't about to read into it.

"What?" he snapped, and tapped the bar. _"Otro."_

The barman refilled his glass and Bond snatched it up. Q's eyes followed the glass, and Bond could tell by the tightening of his lips he was frowning.

"James I want you to come _home."_

James sighed, tossed this glass back too and savoured the burn. He slapped the tumbler down on the bar. "I'm pretty sure you know the nature of my work."

Q snorted. "Not what I meant. And I checked your file. M confirmed - you're not on assignment."

Bond snorted, pushed himself off his stool. He tossed some peso's onto counter.

"James-"

Bond turned and left the bar.

He heard Q make an impatient sound and his stool shift in the sand. After a moment he was stumbling alongside, clearly unused to walking on a beach. The surf crashed nearby and Q shot it a mistrustful glance.

"It's an ocean, Q."

"Do you know how many people die from riptides every year?"

"I imagine you're going to tell me."

Q made an angry sound. "Look, I can deal with you making fun of, of my _complexion,_ and my size, and-"

"And the way you sing in the shower."

Q huffed, a blush colouring his cheeks. "I'm just sick of you assuming that my age somehow makes me too immature to a) understand what you go through, and b) to know my own bloody feelings."

Bond stopped, hands clenching. He turned to look back at Q and frowned. "I just don't think you understand what you're getting into with me. What I am, what I have to do for a living."

"You're a double _O_ ,James. I'm not stupid. I understand the sex, the killing. Hell, half the time I'm listening in and I just grit my teeth and bear it when you're sleeping your way into some woman's heart for information."

"And you're just _okay_ with that are you? Knowing I've got blood on my hands and it's not going anywhere."

"I've got blood on mine by proxy. I enable you to do your job, I guide you through to the closet kill. James, I don't care."

James clenched his jaw. "Really? None of it bothers you?"

"I never said it didn't," said Q. "But it also bothers me when you try to make these decisions for me. When you run away like it's somehow for my own good when you're the one who's frightened of us."

Bond dropped his gaze, shook his head. He bit down a comment about how young Q was, how _silly_ he was and sighed.

"You chased me all the way to Havana just to say this?"

"I'll chase you as far as I have to," said Q. "So long as I make you see some kind of sense."

Bond sighed, rubbed the back of his head. He took in Q's appearance again and thought about what he'd look like in his hotel room, stretched out on the white sheets with the golden, tropical sunshine pouring in, how the humidity would make his skin slick and warm. He realised with a pang how badly he wanted it. Bond noticed he was carrying his goddamn _laptop_ and snorted, felt a grin stretch his cheeks.

"That thing'll be bloody useless if you get sand in it."

Q glanced at the bag. He looked back up, raising an eyebrow. He wasn't impressed by the topic change.

Bond laughed. It was the way he spoke with more than just his words that had drawn Bond to him in the first place, and he knew he could always run away again but Q wouldn't stop. Bond wasn't surprised to realise he didn't want him to, even if it was for the best. "Alright. Fine. I'll come home. But not before you get some sun, first. Christ, when was the last time you left your den?"

Q smiled. "I leave it every day for MI6."

"It doesn't count if it's under the shade of your umbrella."

He took Q's arm, pulled him close and murmured his name into his hair before he pressed his lips to the top of his head, savoured his scent. Q made a little noise - happiness, now - and Bond thought about all the other noises he'd be making soon.

"For the record, and this is the only time you'll hear me say it, I'm sorry."

Q made an impatient sound now, and his hand pressed against the small of Bond's back right above the gun he had hidden there, as they headed off the beach together.


End file.
